


Changes

by JustGail



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, all in one, some violence, unethical approaches to relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:37:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustGail/pseuds/JustGail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Parker had several things weighing on him the summer after graduating college. For one, he found himself suddenly with a lot of free time, and he wasn't a fan of free time. And then there were his actual duties as Spider-Man. And lastly, around the end of spring Peter had heard rumors that Deadpool was back in town. 3 part fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Say Anything...Except That](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3096005) by [cortexikid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/pseuds/cortexikid). 



> Before you read this, I have a few things to say.
> 
> The first thing you should know, is that I'm only about 70% content with this three-part Spideypool fic. There was an outline, and it matched the outline more or less, but I'm new to this fandom and I'm so not sure I got the characterization right. Criticism is beyond welcome.
> 
> Secondly, being new to this fandom means that there is a lot of information to take in, things to choose, tropes to follow or ignore. Unlike Marauder fanfiction, which I wear like second skin, I don't understand these characters as deeply as I'd like to. Unlike Marauder fanfiction, I'm pretty much allowed to pick and choose. I chose to tie into canon, but not in a way, I hope, that you'll expect. I also chose to accept the fact that the white box is in fact a different entity, which is why both Deadpool's thoughts and the yellow box are in italics, but the white box is not.
> 
> Good luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: turns out, instead of having one continuous dinner, they have two separate ones. oops. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Changes**

{Part 1}

"You don't have any clue, do you?" he says angrily. "You don't even care enough to find out. This entire thing – "

"Wade – "

Wade curses at him, spewing words in languages Peter doesn't even recognize, the words flowing as if reciting the words to a poem or singing a song. His encore? "Go fuck yourself, Parker. I never needed you anyway ."

* * *

Peter Parker had several things weighing on him the summer after graduating college.

For one, he found himself suddenly with a lot of free time, and he wasn't a fan of free time. He liked going to class, and not only because it helped him keep busy. He had a job, but it wasn't full time, and besides, taking pictures of Spider-Man wasn't the hardest thing to do when you, in fact, were Spider-Man.

And then there were his actual duties as Spider-Man. He wasn't officially part of the Avengers, which didn't stop them or the Fantastic Four from asking him to help them whenever they wanted to, but even without those missions, he still had patrolling regularly and the trouble some of his major adversaries would get him in.

And lastly , around the end of spring Peter had heard rumors that Deadpool was back in town.

This was quite possibly the worst of them all, because Deadpool had a habit of interfering with Spider-Man as much as he possibly could. This meant that if he didn't figure out what Deadpool was up to sometime soon, he might find the Merc with the Mouth stuck up his ass yet again.

Which is why, at that very moment, Peter Parker was following Deadpool around New York.

It was not a good day to follow someone around. By the time Peter found Deadpool, it was early evening, and the air was clear, though cold; this meant that Peter could not count on the cover of fog or rain or darkness to disguise him , nor could he pretend to be simply taking a stroll, as people were rushing out of the cool air and not to it. The only advantage Peter had over Deadpool at this moment in time, in fact, was that Deadpool couldn't disguise himself as a normal citizen. Which honestly, in New York, didn't matter all that much.

Deadpool stopped to buy a hotdog from a street vendor and Peter leaned against a wall, debating the idea of giving up and going home. Deadpool may have been up to something sinister, but so far, all evidence pointed to the contrary – he hadn't done anything but walk the streets and buy a hotdog. Peter closed his eyes, counted to five in an attempt to relax, and looked back in the direction of where Deadpool had been only moments before.

He was gone. Deadpool had disappeared.  _Shit._

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT._

In a quick sprint, Peter took no time at all to reach the hotdog vendor. Deadpool was nowhere in sight – perhaps he had simply wandered off when Peter hadn't been looking?

Thinking he saw a glimpse of red and black, he hurried to an alleyway nearby. Nobody around.

His Spidey sense was tingling, but even when he looked up, he couldn't see anything. Maybe Deadpool wasn't here at all, and his Spidey sense was just in overdrive? Peter sighed and turned around –

Oh. There he was.

Blocking the entrance to the alleyway was Deadpool . Taken aback, Peter looked him over, and concluded that he looked largely the same as the last time he'd seen him. Still taller than him, still muscular, still covered head to toe with his red and black uniform. Deadpool's mask, though seemingly similar to his own, showed, somehow, far more of Deadpool's expression than his own ever showed of Peter's. Right now, for example, Deadpool was both annoyed and curious, raising an eyebrow and pointing a gun straight at his face.

"You've got thirty seconds to explain to me why you're following me, kid," said Deadpool, his hand unwavering , "and if I don't like it, there's not going to be much left of your pretty face."

Peter thought quickly, not doubting Deadpool's willingness to shoot him. He could pretend that he hadn't been following him, but Deadpool would see right through that. He could, of course, tell the truth – but Peter had managed to avoid Deadpool finding out his secret identity thus far and felt no need for this to change.

"I'm a photographer," he said, the half-truth spilling out before he could stop himself. "I usually take pictures of Spider-Man. You might have seen some of my stuff, in the Daily Bugle – "

"If you wanted to photograph me," said Deadpool, brightening, "you could have just asked."

"Yes, well," Peter stammered. "Um, I was actually – "

Shit.

"I was hoping," he continued, "that you would lead me to Spider-Man. You've been seen with him before, and – "

"Yeah, Spidey and me are best buds," Deadpool said, still cheerful. He lowered the gun and placed it back in its holster. "Sadly, I haven't seen him in a while. Sorry, kid. We're both out of luck."

"Oh, okay," Peter said, not pointing out that it was unlikely that someone you haven't seen for a while would be your "best bud". "Then I guess – "

At this point Peter was quite rudely interrupted by a shower of bullets all around them. "Get down!" Deadpool yelled at him, jumping on a nearby dumpster.  _What is he doing, for God's sake?_  Peter wondered silently. Cursing his choice of outfit, Peter crouched behind that same dumpster, looking for the shooter. In his backpack, under the camera he would have taken out had Deadpool had time to ask for proof, was his Spider-Man costume. He considered putting it on only to realize that the bullets had stopped.

"What's going on?" he yelled. There was no reply. It was quite possible he hadn't said a thing. There was a terrible pain in his leg, and when he looked down he saw that it was bleeding. Have I been shot? he thought, suddenly dizzy. He didn't remember getting shot, but it was obviously a possibility. The pain was shooting up his right leg, and he fell on his side, only to realize that his left hand was hurting as well. He knew he would heal soon, but not soon enough. The pain was excruciating, and his vision was starting to fade.

He could have sworn that as he was blacking out, a pair of strong arms were picking him up…

* * *

"Wade, please – "

"Did you ever even think?" Wade Wilson spits at him. Literally, there is spit flying towards Peter's face, but Peter's too upset to even care. "Did you ever even ask yourself – did you even think? Of course you didn't. And everybody saying that  _I'm_  selfish – "

* * *

It was long dark by the time Peter came to in a small, unfamiliar apartment. The place smelled like pizza and dirty laundry, but not overtly so; it struck his as a more permanent scent, sticking to the place after years of use, rather than anything more recent and tangible. His stomach growled, and he tried to sit up – only to feel the stabbing pain in his arm . It could not have been long since the shooting, as he had not fully healed yet. His arm was bandaged and so was his leg. He looked around, trying to assess his situation – could it be that Deadpool had taken him in? It didn't seem likely, but then again, the man was quite literally insane. He was hardly predictable.

The couch he was sitting on was lumpy, but not because it was cheap but rather because it was old, well used. The was a TV screen with various gaming consoles on the opposite wall and a large window on the wall to Peter's left. The blinds were partially open, and the orange light from the street outside colored the dark room in stripes. To his right was a bare wall and an open door, through which he could see only a narrow hallway. In the far left corner was a pile of games, but he didn't pause to look at the titles.

Peter turned towards the door and tried to stand. The pain in his right leg was faint, but undoubtedly there, and he carefully shifted his weight, leaning to his left as much as he could. He could see his backpack in the hallway, still zipped tight – but whoever had brought him here might know he's Spider-Man.

In the hallway, Peter could see that he would have to pass by an open door in order to get to the front door. He debated climbing out of the window, only to realize that, in his current state, he was most likely to fall and injure himself further. Risking the front door was his only option.

Somebody was humming . This raised the probability of his "host" being Deadpool by about 700%. He reached the edge of the open doorway and risked a glance towards the source of the humming – oh.

It was definitely Deadpool . His back was turned so he was facing away from the doorway . Still wearing his suit (plus an apron, minus the mask), Wade Wilson was humming Wrecking Ball (which was oddly appropriate) and messing around in his kitchen , possibly attempting to cook eggs or make meth. From his particular vantage point, Peter couldn't really tell. Besides, after glimpsing only the barest bit of Deadpool's scarred skin, Peter had already rather quickly glanced away, facing the walls of the hall once again.

 _Relax, Peter,_  he told himself firmly.  _It's only Deadpool. Who knows how many times you've had to handle him and you're still here. Just relax._

So he took a deep breath and took a step towards the front door.

"I hope you're not leaving before dinner," said Deadpool, still without turning around.

_Shit._

* * *

"Wade, I didn't mean to – " says Peter, and desperation filters into his voice .

"If I'm such a bad person, why do you even bother being with me? If you can't stand the things I actually I do – "

* * *

"So what's your name, sweetheart?" asked Deadpool, leaning back against the counter . His mask was back on, and from seemingly nowhere he had once again produced a gun, but at least this time he wasn't pointing it at Peter. "You obviously know who I am, what with following me around and all. Figure, since I saved your life, you might as well tell me at least your name."

"Who was shooting at us?" Peter said instead.

Deadpool shook his head. "Nuh-uh. No information from me 'til I know who I'm dealing with."

"Peter," he said, quickly, before he could change his mind. "Peter Parker." He thought about it for another moment and added, "Thanks for that, by the way."

"For what?" asked Deadpool.

"Saving my life."

"It was no problem," said Deadpool nonchalantly. "C'mon. I made eggs and toast for dinner. I have four types of jam."

And, mostly because he didn't want to get shot, Peter joined Wade Wilson for dinner. And, considering the meal consisted of eggs and toast, it wasn't bad.

Deadpool talked. A  _lot._  Peter knew he had a mouth on him but – wow. He really was the Merc with the Mouth. After a long discussion of why the prequel Star Wars trilogy was an abomination, the exhaustingly details rehashing of Deadpool's seemingly infinite amount of weddings, and an explanation of why he preferred one specific hot dog stand in New York to all others, Peter finally gathered up the courage to ask:

"So – why were we being shot at, again?"

"Oh, that?" Deadpool waved at him dismissively. "It was… it was a misunderstanding."

Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Well," said Deadpool. "I had shot one of their friends earlier that day. By accident. I thought he was somebody else. He didn't die, but these… people decided that, well, they wanted to get me back. It's fine. I've dealt with them."

"Dealt with them," echoed Peter. "Do you mean that you killed them?"

Deadpool squirmed under his gaze, apparently suddenly uncomfortable. "Well, honey," he said. "I prefer the term 'un-alived'. But yes, they're not walking around anymore. I thought – "

"You thought what?" asked Peter.

"That you knew I was a mercenary, sweet-cheeks."

"Yes, well – "  _That doesn't mean I approve of what you do._

"Are you done with your dinner?" asked Deadpool cheerfully, interrupting him. "How are you feeling?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," said Peter, wondering at Deadpool's sudden change of tone. "Can I – can I go home now?"

"Well, I suppose," said Deadpool. "Though I really am quite curious. I didn't open it, but – " He frowned. He sounded as though he had been interrupted, only nobody had spoken. "Yes, exactly," he said. "Then we agree. What's in your bag?"

* * *

Peter isn't sure what the point of the argument is anymore. He feels so exhausted and just wants them to  _end this_  and go to  _bed._  Sure, he made a mistake, but surely, it could be forgiven. He could fix it. They would fix it, and all would be forgiven, and they'd kiss and make up –

"You don't get to make decisions  _for_  me, Parker," he says. "We're supposed to make them  _together. It's_  part of the deal."

"I know," says Peter. "I know. I'm so sorry. I just tried to – "

"To change who I am?" cried Wade. "You knew what you were getting into. I never tried to hide that side of me. You knew all along. Stop pretending you didn't . And you know what else – "

* * *

_Shit._  "What makes you think there's anything important in the bag?'

"Because of your reaction right there," said Deadpool. "Parker, sweet cheeks, you're not a very good liar. C'mon, just show me what's in the bag.  _Pretty please_."

Peter, not knowing where his bravery came from, said, "I'd rather not."

And to his surprise, Deadpool nodded. "Fine. Whatever. You can go if you want to. But like I said – I made dinner. And people say I'm a good cook!" He paused , then amended his previous statement: "Well, only one guy really. And he's gone now. Poof. We're no longer together. It was a good run while it lasted, though. Sold really well. Well enough for me, at least."

Peter shook his head, not quite believing what he was hearing. "What are you talking about?" he demanded.

Deadpool shrugged. "Sometimes even I don't know. So. Breakfast for dinner?"

Peter shook his head. He just wanted to go home. "Where are we, anyway ?" Deadpool rattled off an address, and Peter was pretty sure he knew how to get home from there. "I think I'm going to – "

"Stay for an awesome eggs-toast-and-bacon dinner?" Deadpool said hopefully.

Peter thought of getting home, and of how Aunt May doesn't even know that he's been unconscious for as long as he has, and of warning someone that Deadpool is in town, and he thought of his deadline at the Bugle. And then he thought of following Deadpool around, and getting shot and being saved by Deadpool, and Deadpool  _digging out the bullets and bandaging him_ , and how he didn't push him over the whole 'what's-in-the-bag' thing, and he thought of his shame at getting a glance at Deadpool's skin. And then he thought of his growling stomach and at the fact that he had used a lot of his calories on healing himself, even if only partially.

And then he said, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'll stay for dinner."

And he stayed for dinner. And Deadpool didn't take his mask off, not completely, and Peter didn't look at him because it was weird.  _This is weird, right? Me knowing who he is and him not knowing who I am? Being around him without him flirting with me constantly?_

It was weird.

But he had to admit, even though it was hardly a gourmet meal, Deadpool was a good cook. And a strange conversationalist.

Peter didn't really have to talk, or even look up at Deadpool; he just started talking and didn't stop. At a certain point he was talking about turtles, and at another point he was talking about camping trips. Peter, even though he did try, couldn't keep up with the word-vomit; but what he did here was honestly not that boring. Sometimes it made no sense. Sometimes it was gruesome. But it was all interesting to an extent.

And Peter had to admit that he found Deadpool  _himself_  fascinating. This wasn't something new, just unexplored; he'd always found him to be both annoying and interesting. It's just that when they were in life-or-death situations, the annoying part tended to eclipse the morbidly-fascinating part. The Merc with the Mouth had that name for a reason, and boy, did that get on Spider-Man's nerves.

But Peter… Peter thought Deadpool was something else. In a way, they were the same; both spitting witty one-liners, both dedicated to their ideology, both freaks. But Peter Parker was intellectual; Wade Wilson was random. Peter Parker was moral; Wade Wilson was fanatic. And –

He wasn't going in that direction right now. Comparing who's the biggest  _freak_  will only lead him to suffering.

It took Peter a second to realize that Deadpool had asked him a question.

"Huh?"

"I asked, whatcha thinkin' 'bout?"

"Just tired," Peter lied quickly. "I really think I should get home now. Thank you for the food, it was really great."

"You can't just  _walk_  home, though," said Deadpool. He had rolled his mask all the way back down just as Peter looked at him, but he was sure that was a coincidence. "You were shot earlier today. You should at least get a cab, if not go to a hospital!"

Peter couldn't exactly explain to him that he'd already almost completely healed. But he couldn't tell him that his sloppy clean up job was good enough either; Deadpool had a healing factor, but he had to know that he was hardly the best doctor in New York. And then it occurred to him –

"Why didn't you take me to a doctor in the first place?"

That seemed to give pause to Deadpool, who, after a while, said slowly, "We didn't think of it. It was – it was a lot of pressure."

"Yeah, okay," Peter said.

"I'm going to call you a cab."

Deadpool called a cab. When the cab arrived he walked down with Peter, offering to give him a helping hand what with his limbs having been shot just a few hours earlier. Peter didn't take him up on his offer, instead opting to pretending to limp as he walked down the steps and climbed into the cab. He silently wished he'd remembered to wince more when he'd been eating, but he had been so hungry and it had escaped his mind.

Deadpool waved him goodbye, and after a moment of hesitation, he waved back.

As the car started moving, the cab driver asked: "Is that one of those masked heroes or something? He save your life?"

And without hesitating, Peter said, "Yeah."

* * *

Deadpool was doing it. He'd said the worst thing he could possibly say. He is fucking up his best relationship, he is, but he can't help it.

"I love you, Spidey," he says, putting on the mask, and he sounds dead and rough and bleeding to his own ears. "I do. But I can't do this anymore. I'm leaving."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, if you made it all the way to the end and decided, "hey, I like this story", I have a blog where I take prompts - queerastronauts.tumblr.com. Welcome to send them in anytime!  
> sorry about the double dinner thing


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Fluff ahead. And also angst. And not at the same time, if you get my drift.

**Changes**

{Part 2}

Wade didn't really understand it, but Spider-Man was being very nice to him all of a sudden. The first time he'd seen him this month he not only didn't kick him out of New York, but he actually said hello to him, very politely, before webbing away. The second time, it was just a nod in his direction; in Spidey's defense, he was headed towards a fire. The third time, he bumped into him just as he was webbing away from a crime scene, and the conversation went something like this (his boxes were busy screaming in his ear, and so his memory was a bit hazy at best):

Spidey said, "Hey."

Wade said, "Hey, Spidey, nice save you did there."

And Spider-Man responded by asking him out to dinner. Well, what he literally said was probably something like: "Thanks. I'm starved, do you wanna go grab some tacos?"

So yeah, it wasn't  _exactly_  Spidey asking him out to dinner. But it  _was_  nighttime, and he  _did_  ask to have food with him, and it  _was_  outside. They just weren't  _out_ -out. Wade took him to his favorite place anyway. They got their take out and picked a roof to sit on within fifteen minutes. Fast food, really.

They didn't really talk much. That is, Wade talked a lot, and Spider-Man was uncharacteristically quiet. But this was new, uncharted territory for both of them. Spider-Man, being seen in public being amicable with Deadpool? Unheard of. But honestly? Wade thought it was nice. The few things Spider-Man actually said were nice-funny, not rude-funny, and he even laughed at some of Wade's jokes. Some of them were even PG-13.

The boxes were loud, but then again, so was Wade. Even with all his insecurities, there wasn't much they could do to him at that moment; he was ecstatic.

 _See that, there? He's regretting ever coming out with you_ , the yellow box said.

{Why isn't he saying anything?} wondered the white box.

 _Spidey is out on a not-date with me,_  replied Wade.

Spider-Man finished his meal, Wade finished talking, and Spider-Man stood to leave. Wade pushed himself up and off the ledge  _get it?_  as well.

"Um," said Deadpool.  _Senpai, notice me!_

"Thanks," said Spider-Man suddenly. "This really was a great place."

_Senpai! Gasp!_

{You really are like a schoolgirl with a crush}

_What an anime cliché_

"You're welcome, Baby Boy," Wade replied, trying to ignore his boxes. "It's my favorite place, so I'm glad you liked it. We can do this again, if you'd like. Um. I mean. I don't know. But yeah."

{Shut up}

_You're embarrassing yourself_

"I think I'd like that," Spider-Man said. He turned to leave, before very dramatically  _just like in an anime!_  turning around and saying, "See ya around, Deadpool."

* * *

47 missed calls. 52 text messages. Not all, but almost all from Peter. Wade stares at his phone. Wade isn't holding the phone anymore. He chucked it into the fucking river. His coat is long, his fifties style hat is on. He's playing a part; his heart isn't in it, but he's doing his best.

_You look like a cartoon character._

{Who cares? It's appropriately tragic and cliché.}

"Shut up," Wade says. He checks seven different pockets before finding his plane tickets. His other cell phone rings. It's a plain, automatic, non-customized, not-pop-culture-related ringtone.

" _Sir, your cab is waiting for you._ "

* * *

"Yo, Spidey," said Wade, joining the superhero on their shared roof. "What did you bring this time?"

"Some of my aunt's cooking, actually," Spider-Man confessed. "I didn't mean to, but I mentioned I was going to get takeout and the next thing I know – "

"Familial smothering," Wade said, nodding. "I mean, I can't say I  _understand_ , but I've heard of it." Spider-Man looked tense – {you probably made him feel awkward, you idiot} – so Wade added, "Saw you on the news yesterday. What's up with JJJ, anyway? What he got against you?"

Spider-Man was busy handing the food out – lasagna, still warm. Yum – and took his time answering. "I think he's got anger issues," he said finally. "I know this kid, Peter…"

"Wait," said Wade, remembering the cute skinny kid with a camera from a few months back. "Flashback moment. Is he a photographer?"

"Yeah," came the reluctant reply.

"Met him a few months back," Wade remembered. "Saved his life. Had a great ass. Stayed for dinner."

"Right," said Spider-Man, sounding uncomfortable. "Point is, he works for him. Told me some stories. Apparently, one time, Jameson almost had a heart attack in the middle of lecturing him. Actually had to go to the hospital."

Wade roared from laughter. "Best. Story. Ever. Terrible bosses are great, you know?"

"I guess," Spider-Man said, suddenly standing up. "Hear that?"

"No," said Wade, listening intently. "Wait. Yes. Police sirens, about a block away?"

Spider-Man nodded, lowering the edge of his mask. "Gotta go."

"See ya around," Wade said. "I'll get rid of the trash."

_It's always sad to see him leave, but we love to watch him go_

"Shut up," Wade said. "It's not like that's going anywhere."

* * *

_I hate airports_ , Wade thought, as he got trouble yet again for his weapons. What was the point of having a permit if no one let him actually get through?

 _Well, as it's a fake, be glad nobody's giving you any_ more _trouble_

{That's a good point. Technically, you should be k-word-ing your way out of jail}

_Really? Is it that bad?_

{Do you see how much we're carrying?}

_Good point_

"Shut up," Wade mumbled, finding making his way to the duty free.

"Wade?"

* * *

_Shit, shit, this is bad._

There's smoke in Wade's eyes, and there are people screaming, and he's not sure how many people's he's carried to safety. There at least two people he can barely look at without remembering his  _own_  face.

_Which is never a pleasant experience_

{Bet Spidey's face is a pleasant experience, mmm}

_Focus, damn it. Remember why we're here._

_Because of Spidey's potentially delicious mouth?_

Yet another scream. Wade carried the girl out minutes later, asking: "Is everybody out?"

Spider-Man swung out that very moment, carrying a lady and her baby. "That seems to be it." He turned around, maybe intending to help the firefighters, but then wobbles and falls down.

 _He's out_ , Wade thought. It felt weirdly familiar to pick him up and take him all the way to his apartment. Throughout the entire time Wade treats Spider-Man's wounds – sure, he's got a healing factor, but not much of one – he left the mask on, no matter what other part of Spidey's outfit he had to take off.

If he stared at Spider-Man's chest a bit after he was done, he didn't really think anyone could blame him.

Wade was cleaning up when he heard a groan coming from the couch Spidey was on; once again, this felt eerily familiar somehow. "You're awake!" Wade cried. "How d'ya feel? You lost a lot of blood, you're probably a bit woozy. Be careful!" Peter tried to get up, but Wade pushed him back down. "Your healing factor has kicked in, but you still aren't one-hundred percent. C'mon, just relax."

"I'm  _fine_ ," Spider-Man insisted. "I just need – oh, God," he groaned, "shit."

"You're not  _fine_ ," said Wade. "Just relax a bit more, okay? Let me take care of you."

Spider-Man thought about it for a moment, but eventually lied back down. "Fine, whatever."

Wade smiled, and began humming as he continued cleaning up. There was a lot of blood everywhere, most of it Spider-Man's. He really bled.

"Deadpool."

"Yeah?" Wade said distractedly.

"You took off your mask." There was a bit of a question there, as if Spider-Man was unsure of himself.

"What?" he said, touching his face. He realized he had, and looked away from Spider-Man in apology. "Oh, yeah, sorry. Habit. I'll put it back on."

"No! I mean, it's okay," Spider-Man said quickly. "It's fine. I don't mind it. You don't have to  _apologize_  for taking it off."

"Sure you won't throw up when you look at me?"

"I'm sure."

Wade turned back around. Spider-Man was sitting up, half leaning on his hand, half trying to remove his own mask. "Hey, hey, what are you doing? Stop that!"

"I want you to know," Spider-Man insisted. "You've saved my life at least twice just in the past six months. You deserve it."

"I guess I  _am_  pretty great – wait,  _twice_?"

* * *

"Peter," Wade says coldly. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Just listen to me, please," Peter says.

_Shit fuck, he's hot. Why is he so hot?_

{Maybe we  _should_  forgive him?}

"No," Wade says, talking to his boxes and to Peter. "You listen to  _me_. I'm leaving New York. Do you see these tickets? They're  _expensive_. How the hell did you even get in here? You know what, you probably got a favor from your Avenger friends. Well, you know, I just  _don't care_  about what you have to say.  _You_  broke  _my_  trust, Peter. I don't even know how  _to look at you_."

* * *

"Hi," said Peter Parker.

"Holy crap."

_Well, that explains a lot_

{Random Hottie Photographer Peter and Spider-Great-Ass-Man are one and the same?}

_Feels like we should have known_

{I think I've read this somewhere before}

"Well, this explains the  _twice_  at least," Wade said. "And the whole being awkward about Peter thing. I thought that… well, I thought you might be dating  _yourself_. Fuck."

"Deadpool," sighed Peter.

"Look, I'm good," said Wade. "I'll be good. I'll keep your secret, don't you worry. Just – "

Peter surged forward, stumbling a bit, but landing on Wade. Peter's hands were on his chest, and his face – his lips –

"Shut up," he mumbled, and then he kissed him.

* * *

"Oh, will you  _listen to yourself_ ," Peter cries. "You're  _pathetic_. After you have that crush on me for all those years – "

"You don't get to decide anything  _about me_ , do you get that? I'm me – "

" – and I thought I might be able to help you  _mature_  so bully for you, you decided that – "

" – I had a life before you and I'll have a life after you, you self-centered – "

" – I was just trying to help and you continued to act like a two year old with a gun – "

"You weren't helping!" Wade yells. "You weren't helping.  _I_  decide which jobs I take and which I don't. You knew what I was all along. I never tried to change you, to make you more like me, so why would you try to change me?"

Peter is struck dumb for only a second, but it was a second too long. By the time he raises his voice again, Wade has already turned around and walked away.

* * *

Peter's kiss was surprisingly rough, passionate; Wade was being unraveled by the feeling of his lips. He wanted to be devoured. It felt like no time had passed yet the entire universe had gone by before they broke apart.

The thought that Peter was just doing it to thank him for saving his life disappeared the moment he saw how shaken Peter was from the kiss. He didn't look distraught; he looked  _happy_.

"Hi," Peter said again, outstretching his arm. "I'm Peter Parker. It's… It's really nice to meet you."

Wade grinned and grabbed Peter's hand. "I'm Wade Wilson. It's truly a pleasure."

They're still close, but Peter backs up, wobbling a bit. "Whoa," he laughs. "Maybe I should sit down."

_Right. He's injured._

_You're so inconsiderate_

{You  _forgot_  he was in pain? The fuck is wrong with you?}

 _You know what,_  he thought at them.  _I just kissed Spider-Man slash Peter Parker, and you were silent the entire time. Shut up, please._

He takes care of Peter the rest of the evening, even making chicken soup for him. By the time Peter feels like new, or at least, by the time he's sick of Wade running around getting him yet another pillow ({Where are you even getting all these pillows from? This seems improbable}), it's in the a.m. hours, and Wade offers that he stay over.

"I'll be a perfect gentleman," he promises. "You can sleep in my bed and everything, and I'll sleep on the couch and…"

"Okay," Peter says. He gets up and kisses Wade's cheek. "Thank you."

He's asleep within five minutes, and Wade is left alone, too confused to sleep.

_Sure, if confused is code for aroused._

{It definitely is.}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, if you made it all the way to the end and decided, "hey, I like this story", I have a blog where I take prompts - queerastronauts.tumblr.com. Welcome to send them in anytime!


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight NSFW ahead.

**Changes**

{Part 3}

"Wade, please come back."

"Wade, hey, listen, I know that you changed your number but Stark got the new one for me and I love you so please come home."

"Where are you, Wade? I just – I need you so much."

"Please call me. My number hasn't changed."

" _Heyyyy,_  so – it's  _possible_  I got the  _tiniest bit_  way too drunk, and I just – I miss you so much, you know? And I've lost so – so – so fucking  _much_ , and I just didn't want to lose you, okay? I wanted you safe and at home and with me and fucking hell, Wilson, where are you? Even Stark can't find you. I mean, he's probably not even  _trying_  but – Dear God. Oh God. Oh God."

* * *

Sex with Wade was different than sex with MJ. Well, for one, the tools were different. But what really made the difference was – well, it was how  _eager_  Wade was.

Not that Peter didn't respond positively. He was  _addicted_. When Wade was out of town on a mission, he would literally shake. But there were things that Peter wanted to do – introduce him to his aunt, for example – and whenever he brought them up, Wade would introduce him to yet another way to make him cum.

Wade had just done one of those things to him, and they were both lying naked on the bed. Peter was stroking Wade lazily, kissing him on the mouth. "I liked that," he said as he broke away. "What you did just now."

Wade grinned. "You're welcome to return the favor."

Peter almost did, too. He was thinking of his mouth on Wade's cock, remembering what he'd been feeling only moments ago, and the two made him hard again with seconds. But when his hand let go, nothing replaced it.

"Wade," he began.

"Peter," he replied.

"Why won't you let me introduce you to my aunt?"

Wade was suddenly very quiet. Peter touched his face gently. "What is it?" he asked, sensing something wrong. "Does it have anything to do with – with my – "

"It's not got anything to do with you, Peter,  _Jesus_ ," Wade sighed. He sat up, and Peter rose as well, sitting on his knees. "It's just – well – fuck. Do you – do you remember when you saw me without a mask for the first time?"

Peter smiled. "Yeah. I kissed you."

"For the first time," Wade said. "It was amazing. It was also the only time I've ever had a positive reaction to it. Peter, nobody likes my face.  _You_  don't like my face. Or my skin. I'm… I'm far from perfect. I know it."

"Wade, you're beautiful," Peter whispered.

Wade looked away. "No, I'm not," he said, and his voice cracked.

Peter leaned forward, but he didn't kiss him. He placed his palms on Wade's chest, spread his fingers out, and then quietly whispered, "Look at me. Look at me.  _Look at me_."

Wade looked at him reluctantly.

"You're scarred," he said. "Of course you are. I'm not going to say I wouldn't take you any other way, but I also don't  _care_. You're  _beautiful_ , Wade Wilson, and I love you."

Peter kissed him, once, softly.

"I love you," he whispered, and then he kissed him again. "I love you." He kissed him again. "I love you." Kiss. "I love you." Kiss. "I love you."

Wade was still quiet. Peter grabbed his hand, and raised it to his lips. He kissed Wade's knuckles, and, without letting go, he kissed his way down from Wade's jaw to his collarbone, his shoulder to his chest, making his way down to Wade's abdomen before stopping abruptly and repeating himself one more time: "I love you."

"I love you too." It's so quiet it's barely there but it was, and Peter smiled.

"You don't have to come meet her," he said. "But I want the two most important people in my life to know each other. Is that okay?"

Wade hesitated, but then nodded, just once.

"Thank you," Peter said, and then repaid him.

* * *

"Wade, this is Peter, call me back – shit, shit, the city is on fire pretty much, listen, I love you, okay? Please come back to New York, so we can talk. Please."

* * *

"Oh, you must be Wade!" Aunt May's voice reached Peter in the kitchen, who wasn't cooking as much as he was making sure that nothing caught on fire. "It's so nice to meet you, finally. Come in, come in. Peter's in the kitchen, I'm going to go finish setting the table."

"Not cooking, is he?" Wade stepped into the kitchen, joining his boyfriend in front of the oven. He wrapped his hands around Peter's waste from behind, kissing his cheek.

"Just making sure everything stays not on flames," Peter replied, looking behind him to make sure that Aunt May wasn't behind him. He added in a whisper, "She has a habit of interrupting kisses, just so you know."

Wade laughed, and Peter loved that sound far too much. "I love you," he said, feeling it too much not to say it.

"I love you too, " Wade replied, spinning Peter so they faced each other. He leaned down, and –

BEEP

"Oh, that's the lasagna!" cried Aunt May.

The food was great, the conversation flowed. May never mentioned Wade's scars once, and indulged some of the more bizarre conversation threads. Wade was smiling all through dinner, grinning even while he was eating (which was sort of gross, actually). Peter was on cloud nine.

Later, when they'd escorted May to her cab, and Wade promised to send flowers her way, and they'd finished cleaning up, and they were lying on the big couch entangled in each other, debating what they should watch that evening, Peter stopped breathing for a second.

I'm happy, he thought, and this was so odd, because he'd never been this content before. He was always worrying, always Spider-Man first and Peter Parker second and right now –

He lunged forward and kissed Wade, even though he'd been saying something. He didn't care. He wanted Wade so much and he loved Wade and Wade loved him and wanted him and he was happy and he was content and it was new and it was amazing.

"What was that for?" Wade asked.

"I love you," Peter said. He then took the remote away from Wade. "Let's just… not watch anything tonight."

* * *

"Wade, I know that I've sent you dozens of messages, but this one is important. I'm in trouble. Someone thinks – someone thinks I know where you are, and they're… they're not happy Peter Parker isn't telling. Spider-Man is off the grid for now, so's aunt May, and I think they know where I live. The Avengers are out of town and nobody's answering their phones, please, Wade, I need you. Please."

* * *

"You look like a mess," Peter said. It wasn't the first time Wade had shown up at his apartment, covered in blood, but it was definitely the worst. "Come on, you can use the shower."

He helped Wade in, peeling off the suit like one might peel off dead skin. It was sticky with blood, some of it Wade's, and Wade himself looked like a mess. He ended up washing him, because Wade was too tired to move, and then he let him crash on Peter's bed, taking up the entire double bed with his still naked body. Peter covered him with a blanket, and went back to the second room, where he'd been working.

Half an hour, a phone rings. It was Wade's, and one look at the phone number made him realize it's probably another mission.

_What should I do?_

_Shit._

He swiped to the right, answering the phone call. "Hello?"

"That's not Deadpool." The voice on the other side was cold, heavy. Reminds him of Wolverine a bit, in the gruffness.

"He's asleep," Peter said honestly.

"I'll call back," the voice said, and then the line went dead.

Peter stared at the phone for a while.

He then blocked the number and deleted call history. He went into Wade's email and marks the account with the same name as spam (the password for the phone, as Peter had discovered a couple weeks previously, was  _chimichangas_ ). Wade never even had to know.

Peter then locked the phone and put it back where he'd found it.

_SHIT._

He stared ahead for a moment – perhaps a bit longer – before he heard a groan coming from his bedroom. Rushing to the room, he found Wade still naked, but no longer bleeding or asleep. "Hey, Baby Boy," he said, grinning. "I slept like a baby. Best nap ever."

Peter stepped closer and kissed his forehead. "C'mon. We'll get you some clothes."

* * *

"You're here," Peter says as he stares at Wade. He's wearing full mercenary gear, and Peter feels very sad all of a sudden.

"And you're not dead," Wade says. He steps through the doorway and looks around for a moment.

"Nothing's really changed around here."

"Have you?" asks Wade. He looks him straight in the eye and says, "I killed all of them."

"Oh," says Peter. "They're gone?"

"You're safe. And I've got a plane to catch."

"Wade – "

"Parker, you do not get to just – "

"I didn't ask if you killed  _all_  of them. I just made sure that they were all gone. That's… that's a change, right?" he looked at Wade, and Wade looked away.

"Please, just – just stay."

* * *

It didn't take long for Peter to take control of, well,  _everything_. Wade was still getting jobs, Peter wasn't stopping the flow completely… they just happened to be mostly low-risk, only semi-bloody hits. And sure, it was partly to ease his conscience; but if he was honest, it was mostly about seeing Wade hurt like that.

It was also, partly, because he realized that Wade was indestructible, and for some reason, this made him jealous. But he only admitted that to himself in the dark, when Wade was away.

Most of the time they were together. Peter was still a busy bee, but he found that he was actually rather good getting around it. Meeting Wade in dark alleys between the Bugle and saving the day became the norm. When Wade was away, Peter worked overtime, met his aunt for lunch, talked to people. When Wade was in New York, which was more and more as time went on, Peter worked exactly the amount of time he had to, called his aunt during lunch hour, and tweeted every once in a while.

Wade never knew he was being cheated out of jobs, and Peter got to spend more time with his boyfriend. There was nothing wrong with that.

Except there was.

A mission gone wrong brought Wade home injured worse than ever. "That'll scar," he said quietly, and Peter didn't even have it in him to tell him the truth, that he would kiss it just like every other scar he found on Wade's body. Peter made sure nothing even remotely dangerous got through for the next week.

He got cocky, and he was caught.

He was coming back to Wade's apartment that night, after a long three hours of fighting a wannabe super-villain. It mainly gave him a headache – the fight itself took no time, clean up took  _forever_. When he reached the apartment, the light was still on – which didn't worry him that much. They stayed up for each other sometimes.

Three things tipped him off something was wrong: Wade wasn't singing when he came in. Wade didn't kiss him back. Wade was on  _Peter's_  computer. And yet, it took him a few good seconds to register that Wade looked angry.

"You've been accessing my emails," Wade said, and Peter knew it was the end.

* * *

They're kissing, very suddenly. The door shuts, and clothes are being torn off, and  _oh God_  and  _fuck_  and  _yes, just like that_.

Somebody broke a lamp, but Peter has no idea who. His sweater vest is literally torn to pieces on the floor. He's holding Wade, who's fallen asleep on his chest, despite the fact that Wade is taller. And he's thinking.

 _I've changed_ , he thinks. He thinks he might finally be worthy of Wade. Maybe Wade will love him more now.

In the morning, Wade says it best:

"I'm still leaving. And it's not because I don't love you, because I do. It's because I've made you a  _worse person_. You were Spider-Man, and now you're Peter Parker, and I'm not sure I can handle that burden.

"And, Peter, you're wonderful, you really are. But sometimes I look at you and remember just how hopeful and young you really are. I  _can't die_ , you know. I can't. Even if we stayed together forever, at a certain point, you'd be the one changing without me."

Wade kisses him.

"I love you, Peter Parker, but you're better off without me."

And Spider-Man listens, even if Peter Parker doesn't.

* * *

{Epilogue}

Wade Wilson is Deadpool, and Deadpool is a mercenary, and mercenaries kill people for money. Only, lately, Deadpool has been working with Captain America – no, wait, he's been working with Steve Rogers, former Captain America, and he's been doing it pro-bono, and he's both ashamed and unapologetic.

Wade Wilson loves Peter Parker, and Peter Parker is a photographer, and photographers rarely ever succeed in life. Only, lately, Parker Industries have been blooming, and Peter is more selfish now.

Peter Parker is Spider-Man, and Spider-Man is your friendly neighborhood hero, and friendly neighborhood heroes work for the greater good. Only lately, he's been employed as Peter Parker's personal bodyguard, and this is not, strictly speaking, the greater good.

Deadpool has a family. Spider-Man has a company. This is all very strange and unacceptable.

One day, they are united under the Avengers flag by none-other than former Captain America, Steve Rogers. Within what feels like minutes, Spider-Man is gone. Within what feels like hours, Wade Wilson is knocking on Peter Parker's door.

They have a drink, and they discuss life. Peter Parker is more selfish, Wade Wilson is less, Peter Parker is richer, Wade Wilson is less. Peter Parker is no longer a photographer, but he is still both afraid and wary of Deadpool. Wade Wilson is no longer an unknown mercenary, but he is still both in awe and in lust with Spider-Man.

If you stood both "Spider-Men" in front of Wade Wilson, he'd be able to tell which one is Peter in a heartbeat.

They don't kiss and make up, because life isn't a fairytale, and because sometimes there are explosion a block down. But it isn't Peter Parker who suits up and leaves, it's Wade Wilson. And somehow, despite all the changes, Peter Parker and Wade Wilson are still in love.

Wade Wilson is still insane, and Peter Parker is still a scientist. Wade Wilson still loves chimichangas, and Peter Parker still loves his aunt. Wade Wilson is still in love with Peter Parker, but he is long since disillusioned about Spider-Man. Peter Parker is still in love with Wade Wilson, but he is long since more forgiving of Deadpool.

And if they meet for a drink every once in a while after that, and if they reminisce and laugh, and if every once in a while they kiss –

Well, this is a love story, after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. That's all of it.
> 
> You're welcome to message me with asks at my writing tumblr at any time
> 
> JustGail
> 
> Btw, if you made it all the way to the end and decided, "hey, I like this story", I have a blog where I take prompts - queerastronauts.tumblr.com.   
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
